Answers
by Detonator Stera
Summary: Immediately following the events of Vesplume Tower. Edward doesn't know why, and neither does Capell. Spoilers.
1. Grief

Disclaimer: Infinite Undiscovery belongs to SquareEnix and associated parties. I am not one of those parties. Bummer. This is a work of fanfiction and is intended solely for the purpose of entertainment, and no money is to be made off of its creation.

Warnings: Non-con yaoi, angst, spoilers.

The weak light of the moon washed pale color over the figure hunched by the window, casting his face in deep shadow. Capell hesitated in the doorway, suddenly wondering if this was the wisest course of action. Years of abuse from his unblessed status had given the young musician a finely tuned radar for trouble, and the misery rolling off of Edward in thick, dark waves had that radar screaming. But Capell, despite all the suffering he had endured, was unable leave the grieving warrior. He had seen the others, shared their sorrow. He had only known Sigmund for a brief, albeit intense, amount of time, and his own heart hurt at the loss of the great Liberator. He would not turn from Sigmund's most fiercely devoted follower.

"Edward?" his voice was quiet, trying not to sound too weak. Edward was a firestorm of emotion on a good day; Capell figured the smallest wrong move could set him off. Therefore, he almost sagged with relief when all he received was a quiet grunt. Emboldened by the lack of violent response, Capell entered the room, clicking the door shut behind him. Still cautious, he approached the warrior the way one might a dangerous and wounded beast. Quietly, with light steps and a spring-loaded run reflex. He could see Edward's gaze fixed on a point on the floor, eyes all but glowing with pain and grief. That gaze didn't shift, even when Capell came even with him, the musician's gaze focused out the window. They stayed that way for a moment, while Capell tried to think of something, anything, he could say to ease Edward's turmoil. The others had been easier. Sad, grieving, but still hopeful. Nothing like this black-as-pitch suffering.

"Edward, I... I don't know what to tell you," Capell fell back on honesty. "Sigmund..." Capell froze as a heavy hand clamped on his wrist. Not quick enough. He jerked, but Edward didn't wield a greatsword for nothing.

"..._why_..." the single word, dripping with pain, was Capell's only warning before he was thrown roughly to the floor, and Edward was on top of him, pinning him to the carpet.

"Why do you look like him?!" Edward's voice was dangerous growl of misery, and Capell felt his heart pound wildly in response to the unspoken threat in his tone, the insane grief lighting his eyes. The musician sucked in a breath when Edward's head dropped to his chest. The warrior's shoulders heaved in barely controlled shudders, and Capell had a moment to think, to fear, and then Edward's hands were at his shirt, ripping at the ties. The musician yelped, eyes rounded with panic, before he started to struggle, hands shoving ineffectively at the broad shoulders above him.

"Why did he care about _you_ so much?! I _loved_ him!" Edward's voice was thick with barely controlled tears; Capell jumped as rough gloved hands found bare skin. He struggled to decide what to do; call for help, shame the Force, break the party's trust in one of their most powerful members? Destroy the mission, what Sigmund had given his health, and ultimately, his life, to achieve? Or ride out the storm, and pray Edward came to his senses? Edward's hands were yanking at his pants; Capell shut his eyes to what was happening, and prayed. His hands fisted in the back of Edward's jacket, and he flinched when hot tears splashed on his chest; Edward's breath came in shuddering sobs, mixed with muttered curses and accusations as he ripped at Capell's clothing. The musician's belly lurched when Edward fumbled with his own pants; his heart galloped harder, fear of the inevitable unknown spurring it on. Edward looked up at him; those insane, grieving eyes locked on his. Those big, gloved hands clamped on his hips.

"_Why did he die for you?!_" Edward snarled it as he surged forward, and Capell felt the accusation like a lance in the heart. He hissed at the first penetration; his vision went black with the pain for several heartbeats. His hands fell limply from Edward's back, hitting the carpet with a muffled thump. When he came around seconds later, the warrior's breath was a harsh rasp in his ear. The pain was a throb between his legs; it leaped rapidly in a vicious crescendo when Edward began to move, and Capell squeezed his eyes shut, hands fisting in the carpet for purchase. He grunted in time with the rough movements, struggling to distance himself from what was happening. From the pain of what was being done to him, and the wounds in his heart from Edward's sobbed accusations.

Capell was sure it went on for an eternity; Edward's harsh grunts and sobs, the rhythmic pain. And yet he was surprised when, so soon after it started, Edward inhaled sharply and jerked, and Capell felt heat where the warrior had invaded him. They both held still a long, quiet moment, as Edward caught his breath, and Capell waited to see if the storm had passed. Then Capell winced as the warrior drew out of his abused body, and grunted as Edward collapsed on top of him. His body was whimpering from the pain of what it had just endured, but Capell gritted his teeth and shifted, pushing Edward's limp body off of his. Edward flopped onto his side without a murmur of protest. Capell waited a moment, holding his breath, then risked looking at the other man. Edward's expression was quietly miserable. But that wild, insane grief seemed to have purged itself. At a terrible cost, to both of them. Capell shuddered out a breath, then pushed himself onto his side, meeting the warrior's gaze.

"I don't have any answers for you," he uttered quietly. Edward's gaze dropped, taking in Capell's torn clothing, the blossoming marks _he_ had left on that much weaker body. On someone Sigmund had valued above his own life, his own _mission_. On someone who looked, _so much_, like the man he loved more than life itself.

"I don't deserve them," the warrior replied quietly, ashamed. Tears were gathering at the back of his throat again. Taking a risk, Capell reached up, cupping a hand to the back of Edward's neck, pulling him down so his head was tucked under Capell's chin.

"Maybe by the time we find those answers, you will," he offered quietly. The words broke something in the warrior, and he sobbed again, tucked safely in the shelter of the Liberator's imposter. Capell held him until his breath even and slowed, and wondered what would happen next.

Author's Note: I was pitifully shocked by how little fanfiction there was for this amazing game... and then this little spike jumped up and attacked me. I don't really intend for it to be a Capell/Edward sort of thing. If there's a cute little shipping code for them, I don't wanna know. Just gag me. At least not at this point. No idea if this will be a one-shot or not; the plot bunnies have been evasive and uncooperative for so long now, I don't trust them. I'm hoping they'll cooperate; I'd kind of like to not leave things hanging all dramatic like they are now. Until next time!

-Det


	2. Resolve

Disclaimer: Infinite Undiscovery belongs to SquareEnix and associated parties. I am not one of those parties. Bummer. This is a work of fanfiction and is intended solely for the purpose of entertainment, and no money is to be made off of it's creation.

Warnings: Vague mention of non-con. Angst.

Capell woke just before dawn, alone. That didn't surprise him, and neither did the sharp stabs of pain that jagged through his body when he shifted. The blanket was unexpected, as was the pillow; especially coming from Edward. At least, he suddenly hoped it had been Edward, since any other option meant he would have a lot of explaining to do. Gingerly, Capell pushed himself up, wincing, and lifted the blanket, and took stock. He was still wearing, or mostly wearing, the clothes from the night previous. He was stiff from sleeping on the floor, and sore from... he shook his head, not wanting to remember more. Helping a friend through grief, that's all it was. He got to his feet carefully, wondering how he was going to get to his, no, Sigmund's, room in his state. Capell turned, and blinked in surprise. There, on the table, was a set of Sigmund's clothing, armor piled neatly beside it. A bottle of berry potion sat on top of the clothing. Capell frowned, picking up the bottle. He had no idea what to say to Edward, no idea if he should say anything. No idea if anything could be said. Morning had brought no answers. He downed the potion, sighing in relief as the throbbing pain subsided, then picked up the shirt.

"_The one who died today was the musician, Capell. It is Sigmund who stands before you."_

Fresh grief, raw and real, tore at him as the memory surfaced. And the awful confusion, because he still couldn't understand _why._ Why Sigmund did it. Capell took a deep breath, forced back down the memories, and slowly changed. He pulled on Sigmund's mantle, and the destiny that came with it. Dropped the last torn remnants of Capell, the cowardly, unblessed musician. And, with the last piece of armor in place, became the Liberator. He looked over, and studied his reflection in the window, noting all the places he'd had to cinch the armor tighter. A pale imitation of the Liberator, but he was all they had left. Inside its' armored gauntlet, his hand fisted. He would not let Sigmund down.

Aya's presence was a comfort; her stern, yet oddly affectionate scolding reassured Capell that, whatever the past held, the future would not be lonely. The others had gathered; it seemed only Balbagan was unable to find the resolve to continue the mission. Capell's step faltered, just a little, when he saw Edward leaning against the city gate. Last night was still a little too real. He stopped, yards away, and searched the warrior's face, hoping for a clue as to how he should act. Edward's hard gaze trailed over his, Sigmund's, no, _his_, raiment, and Capell felt marginally more protected, hidden under layers of armor. The warrior's eyes met his for the briefest moment, then flicked away, but not before Capell saw the pain and shame in the dark eyes. Capell's resolve hardened. He could carry the secret burden of the Liberator; he could carry Edward's as well. The cost was only a useless, bumbling musician. The Liberator's imposter looked down, studying his clenched fist. Capell would have run by this point; Capell _had _run, tucked safely away in the recesses of his mind. He was the Liberator now. He looked up, studying the faces of those loyal to the cause.

"Let's go," he stated quietly. The others nodded, and followed as he pushed open the gates of Fayel. The journey had to continue. Sigmund would not die in vain.

Author's note: Hmmmm... poor Capell. Poor Edward, even. I know that in the game, Capell makes a number of slips and mistakes as he tries to be the Liberator, but I felt that, for a least a minute, he should really feel the weight of what he had agreed to do. I don't plan to re-write the entire game from here on, that would just be silly. But there are other key events later on that I may "re-imagine," as the saying goes. I still don't have plans for this to be a Capell/Edward, but I suppose it'll depend on where the muses drag me. ^_^ Until next time!

-Det


	3. Pain

Disclaimer: Infinite Undiscovery belongs to SquareEnix and associated parties. I am not one of those parties. Bummer. This is a work of fanfiction and is intended solely for the purpose of entertainment, and no money is to be made off of it's creation.

Warnings: Vague, very vague mention of non-con, angst, spoilers.

It had been hours since they had arrived in Sapran, determined to save the unblesseds that had dug a place for themselves in the unforgiving desert. Hours since they had arrived to witness the slaughter of those determined souls. By the monstrous beings anyone bearing a lunaglyph could transform into. Edward's hand fisted, his newest glyph pulsing at the memory of the horror of losing control, of attacking those he had once fought to protect. Those he had stood back to back with. He forced the memories down, refocused. He knew about Faina, and Leif, the unblesseds with whom Capell had connected so strongly. He knew their fate, and knew from Aya that Capell had witnessed their murders. Edward shut his eyes, remembering the battle earlier, hearing Capell's raw screams of anguish. By the time he and the rest of the Force had dispatched the vermiforms, and tracked down Aya and Capell, their Liberator had retreated into himself, leaving an emotionless shell. It had been decided that they would stay, do what they could to help the survivors, and leave in the morning. Capell had remained deathly silent through the processes of bringing the injured to the designated infirmary, gathering the dead together. When the Force had dispersed to settle for the night, Edward had discovered Aya alone. She had told him of trying to get through to Capell, and her concern at his responses, which were flat and angry at best. Edward, recalling uncomfortably the time Capell had sought him out, after Sigmund's death, decided to return the favor.

The moon, bright in its ever increasing proximity to the land below, illuminated Edward's path as he wandered the tiny, devastated town, looking for Capell. He found the Liberator's imposter in one of the side areas, used by the town for storage. Capell stood, studying the moon, his face a hard mask of concealed emotion. Edward paused a few steps away. He could feel the grief, and more, the sheer rage pouring off the other man. He wondered what Capell had felt, that night in Fayel, before he'd made his presence known to Edward. Most of that night was a grief-charged blur to the warrior, though the memories of his actions against the musician in the storm of that grief were clear enough. And that memory was enough of a kick to make him approach, and reach for Capell's arm.

"I used to wish that I had a lunaglyph, more than anything in the world," Capell spoke, so softly Edward wondered if the other warrior was aware of his presence. "I'd have given anything to belong, to be accepted," he continued, gaze still fixed on the moon, glowing intently above them. "But if I'd had one, would I have given Faina a thought? Leif? Would I had left them out in the desert to die? They're just unblesseds, after all. Is that what I would have thought?" the growing threads of hysteria in his leader's voice made Edward's gut clench, and he clamped a hand, firmly, on Capell's shoulder.

"Capell, no. Not you. You're too... kind, for that," he assured. Capell's head whipped around, and his eyes were as big as the moon, and as dark as the eclipse he had been born under. The ring of red around his pupils, despite being his normal color, gave an aura of barely controlled rage to the blank look in his eyes. They bored into Edward's mercilessly. The wild grief in his friend's eyes made and Edward's gut clench and drove him forward; he took his comrade by the shoulders, which heaved as Capell struggled for control of his reckless emotions.

"What if I'd had a lunaglyph? I could have turned into one of those monsters. _I could have killed them_," he rasped in a grating whisper that clawed at Edward's heart. Because he _had_ turned into one of those monsters. And maybe, if things had gone a little differently; if they had lingered in that damned lunar rain for a little too long, maybe _he_ would have been the one to kill Faina and her young brother. The disturbing thoughts distracted the warrior; the first punch plowed into his belly, caught him off guard, and knocked the wind out of him. He barely had time to brace before the next hit came; grunting with the pain because, if nothing else, Capell had been layering on the muscle while taking on the mantle of the Liberator. The blows kept coming; Capell was sobbing wildly, snarling accusations and questions that had no answer as he pummeled blindly. Edward let the hysterical warrior drive him back against the wall, and kept his arms around the smaller figure, mostly to ensure that Capell didn't get him down and vulnerable to head shots. Much as he did in battle, Edward closed his mind to the pain, and rode out the storm of anguish with his comrade.

It seemed like hours, but in reality only minutes passed before Capell wore himself out, breath heaving and forehead pressed against Edward's chest. Gingerly, wincing as the careful movements shot agony through his midsection, Edward lowered them both to the ground. Capell followed with jerky motions, fisting his hands in the front of Edward's tunic and reduced to whimpers and shudders.

"You'd never. No, Capell, not you," Edward spoke gently, resting a hand on his friend's hair. Capell hung his head, sobbing out a breath.

"How do you know that?" he asked in a dull whisper. Edward gripped Capell's hair, tugging until they were eye to eye.

"You're too strong to give into something like that. Never forget that," he spoke with conviction, relieved to see that that terrible, insane grief had bled out of his friend's eyes. A quiet misery still glowed in them, and something Edward couldn't place, but the worst had passed. Capell shifted, dropping his forehead on the other warrior's shoulder.

"Not strong. Couldn't save them... I don't have any answers..." he muttered, and Edward felt fresh tears soak his shoulder. He adjusted his grip, and let his friend cry himself out.

When Capell finally slumped into unconsciousness, Edward carefully lowered him to the ground, and started digging in his pockets for a berry potion. He didn't plan on leaving Capell where he lay, but he also had no intention of carrying him while sporting bruised, if not broken ribs. The quiet murmur of a spell, followed by a warm wash of healing magic, had Edward's head jerking up, and in the direction of the approaching priest. Eugene crouched next to him, looking down at Capell's dozing form.

"You were kind to him, Edward," he observed, in his quiet way. Embarrassed as he always was when someone commented on his behavior, Edward scowled at him.

"So what? You just watched?" he grumbled. Eugene smiled at him serenely.

"Of course. I've seen how much practice Capell's gotten lately. I certainly wouldn't want his fist in _my _ribs," he chuckled, nudging his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Edward contemplated giving Eugune a slug just for good measure, but decided that his priority was their exhausted Liberator. With ease, he hefted the smaller form, and turned for the house Aya had settled in.

"Thanks for the _Levi_," he glanced at Eugene, and turned to leave. The priest fell in step beside him.

"He's got a lot on his shoulders already. I wish there was more we could do," he commented casually. Edward hunched his shoulders, guilt pinching between his shoulder blades at the thought that he had definitely done a number of things to _increase_ that burden. He wondered, briefly, if Eugene knew about that night in Fayel.

"The best thing we can do is deal with the rest of the chains, and protect him so he can finish them off," he answered gruffly. Eugene nodded sagely.

"You're right. Keep him focused on the mission. It will help with the grief," he agreed. Edward had been doing exactly that same thing all this time, so he just grunted. They said their good nights outside of Aya's room, and Edward stepped into the small house, trying to not think about why the place was available.

Aya had a fire crackling quietly, with her and Capell's bedrolls laid out nearby. The twins were tucked on the other side of the fire, a messy tangle of limbs and blankets and sleepy mumbling. She looked up when Edward approached. After a flash of concerned study, she smiled sadly and patted Capell's bedroll. Edward laid the sleeping Liberator on the mat, then sat near Aya, watching the fire while she fussed, tugging the blanket over Capell and arranging it to her satisfaction. She settled back down next to Edward when she was done, gazing at the fire with him.

"I don't know what to say to him. I don't know what to do right now, besides finish the mission. I mean, isn't that all we can do?" she wondered. Edward hated that sad, lost tone in her voice. Loathe as he was to admit it, he much preferred her scolding and teasing. But that had no place here, this night.

"I couldn't save her, Faina. Or her sweet little brother. I mean, maybe she had her eye on Capell, or maybe she just wanted a friend. We'll never know, now. I didn't like her, before. But I can't hate her. Not when she's dead, not when my own father's order, or lack of humanity, or _I don't know_, is maybe why she's dead. Not when she was one of the few things that made Capell smile," she blurted out, hugging her knees. Edward twitched; he'd been trying to ignore the bizarre triangle, and he knew Aya was right about the rest. And he knew Capell knew, too; it had been in the semi-coherent rant.

"It wasn't just your father's decision that got them killed. If the moon wasn't chained, this wouldn't be happening in the first place. So blame Leonid, and the Order. And focus on the mission. It's all we can do to help them now," he told her gruffly. Aya palmed tears from her eyes, and nodded.

"You're right. Thanks, Ed. I'll see you in the morning. And... Ed?" she looked up as Edward got to his feet. "Thank you. For being with him," she looked at Capell, sleeping not peacefully, but soundly. "He was so upset. I didn't know what to do for him," she added. Edward absently touched a had to his midsection.

"We look out for each other, right? That's all," he muttered, then fled the house before he said anything else.

Author's note: The plot bunnies have apparently decreed that they will support this fic. Unless something drastic happens idea-wise, there should be one more chapter to this little thread of idea. I know that the whole idea of scary, angry, rage-filled Capell was that he wasn't talking about how he felt about the whole situation, but I think this still works in timeline, because he doesn't really talk about it, just blows off a little steam, which I'm sure he builds back up enough so that he and Aya can have their poignant conversation just before the Underwater Palace (and possible boink-fest? Cause I'm pretty sure they did). And he does let little angry remarks slip out here and there; poor thing's had a lot of trauma, it's going to take more than one night of beating up Edward to fix it. ^_^ Until next time!

-Det


End file.
